


weep, little lion man

by orphan_account



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, i still don't know how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:36:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2306609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was but a mere human, not some kind of God whose words were law and hands healed.</p><p>If only he was, though, he would have tried and saved Marco right there. Instead, he stood in utter shock, watching from afar as he felt, deep in his heart, the midfielder falling apart.</p><p>Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	weep, little lion man

**Author's Note:**

> Yeaaaaaaaah, it happened again. I don't even know what to say, I have no idea why I wrote this, honestly. But you can guess my muse just does not resist writing sad things. Oh look, I made myself sad. *inserts futurama gif here*
> 
> Also! If you have any suggestions and/or prompts feel free to tell me them in the comments or leave a message on my tumblr (reummels.tumblr.com) :D it can be anything, AU or not. Talk to your heart's content. Anyway.
> 
> This is possibly a sequel to my previous fanfic about Marco's injury, "lights will guide you home (...)". The title comes from Mumford and Sons' Little Lion Man song. I strongly suggest you listen to it (while reading or not).
> 
> Enjoy

 

 

 

 

 

He was stressed, deeply stressed.

Erik felt as if his head would explode anytime soon because of the storming thoughts he was having in such short amount of time, making a headache impossible to prevent. He had tried to cool himself down pressing his burning forehead against a cold wall. It gave him some relief, but it wasn't enough to stop the flush of emotions that seemed to seep from his pores, drowning him in his own feelings.

He couldn't believe it had happened again. Not again. Not with Marco.

The whole scene had been so quick and yet everytime Erik tried to recall it it played in slow motion on his eyelids, and then he was back in that frozen split of second where he felt completely speechless and powerless. And then there was Marco, wriggling on the ground, crying in a horrible, desperate voice – the kind that sends shivers down your spine because it sounds almost _inhuman_ how someone can feel that much pain.

He had been too afraid to move, too afraid to come closer and take a look at him. Erik was sure he would have fallen to his knees next to Marco and just asked himself fucking _why._ But he knew, in the corner of his mind he knew he had to worry about finishing that match first and then he could think about Marco. It was useless, trying to help him now. Erik didn't have any kind of way to help him after all. He was but a mere human, not some kind of God whose words were law and hands healed.

If only he was, though, he would have tried and saved Marco right there. Instead, he stood in utter shock, watching from afar as he felt, deep in his heart, the midfielder falling apart.

Again.

\---

[Are you ok?]

No matter how many times he read that message on his phone, he gave up on sending it each time. It was simply too generic, too predictable, too _pretentious_ to ask that. Of course he wasn't. He obviously wasn't. Maybe physically he was, would be, as his injury wasn't nearly as serious as everybody thought it to be.

But Erik knew, in his bones, he just knew. That fucking injury was tormenting Marco's mind and shaking with his emotions in silent panic attacks. He knew what the previous injury had done to the midfielder. How it had crushed him to the ground until he couldn't stand anymore from the heavy weight of the psychological pain. How it fucked up with his emotional state and to this day it haunted him, the idea of going through all that again.

And it _did_ happen again. And that's why Erik was currently having his own mental struggle to talk with his boyfriend or leave him be for today. Maybe the latter was the best option, but he was worried; he didn't like Marco's silence, his indifference and the sudden distance he put between them. They had exchanged a few words in the locker room after the match against Scotland but Marco had just left in the first chance he got, desperately wanting to _go home._

No one tried to hold him back, apart from the doctors and Joachim for a few brief talks about his condition. But he left as soon as he could, not bidding goodbye to his teammates, least so to his boyfriend. Maybe Marco expected Erik to understand it, how he needed some time on his own. Or maybe he didn't care; maybe he forgot about him, in the blinding pain he may have forgotten he wasn't falling apart _alone._ There was Erik, who maybe couldn't prevent him from falling apart, but he could at least try and mend back the torn pieces of his soul.

But that wasn't the case and Erik was left behind. And that hurt, that hurt like a bitch. The defender just wanted to be able to comfort Marco when he needed it but he was failing yet again. He was completely useless.

When his phone buzzed, Erik barely saw who the caller was before answering in a rushed, frenzied tone.

“Yes?”

There was no answer for a couple of seconds and the defender wondered if he was suddenly deaf or if it was a prank call. Then he heard a soft, low and familiar voice, calling for him.

“Erik?”

 _Ah,_ he had to close his eyes as he sighed in the waves of relief that almost made him pass out, _Marco._ Marco had called him. The midfielder had called him before he had the chance to do it himself and the thought gave him such sudden relief he almost felt like crying.

“Yes, Marco?”

“Sorry for...barely talking to you. Earlier.”

His voice was low and raspy, and Erik just knew Marco had been crying. That made his chest ache and he had to rub the bridge of his nose to try and let off some stress.

“It's ok, though.”

“Hum.”

Erik pursed his lips and held the phone tighter on his hand, inhaling deeply as Marco fell in silence and they both retreated to their own thoughts. He wasn't sure how long they spent like that, listening to each other's breathing through the phone, waiting for the other to say something or hang up or whatever. A million thoughts were going through Erik's mind and he had to take a moment to organise them all.

He wanted to comfort Marco, yes he did. But he wasn't sure how. They say the first time you face a situation is always the worst, the second time you'll know what to do. This was the second time and Erik still didn't know what to do. Or maybe he shouldn't do anything; sympathetic words were useless, senseless, anyone could say them and it would be just ordinary talking. But Erik was no ordinary person, not to Marco. There had to be something he, and he alone, could do.

He just didn't know what.

“You're there?”, Marco's voice suddenly rung on his ear.

Erik hummed, not sure what to reply. The midfielder hummed back in a way that indicated he was thinking about his next words too.

“Do you wanna hang up?”

“What? No, no way”, had been Erik's too quick answer, his exasperated tone earning a chuckle from the older boy. The defender pretended his cheeks didn't burn so much at his own ridiculous reaction.

“Thought so”, Marco's voice was soft and quiet, and the younger boy could almost hear a sigh there, “And Erik?”

“Hum?”

He didn't answer right away, leaving Erik to wonder what was coming next. He could almost see it, something about the way Marco stayed quiet made the defender picture him rubbing his face tiredly, searching for a way to voice his worries. It was almost a trademark of his, just like biting on his lips was Erik's, and somehow that made him smile, to think he knew Marco well enough.

“It's not your fault, you know”, was the midfielder's late response, “None of this is your fault. So stop torturing yourself.”

He furrowed his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean”, and here Marco coughed to make his point clear, “That you should stop worrying about trying to comfort me somehow.”

_Oh._

“Oh, hum. Ok”, was Erik's awkward reply, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red for being so obvious on his thoughts.

“I know you're only trying to help, but sometimes you just can't, you know?”, Marco's voice was calm and quite sad, defeated at most.

Erik shrugged and nodded, though the other couldn't see it.

“You just can't help it”, came the midfielder's frustrated whisper, “No one can.”

He fell to another silence and all Erik could do was wait. Wait and pretend he didn't hear the small sniff coming from the other end of the line, wait and hold his breath as he heard Marco's heavy breathing, sounding as if he was running out of air. _Or as if he was crying,_ was his bitter thought, and he had to try his hardest not to voice his worries. He just waited, not so patiently, but he waited until Marco felt comfortable enough to speak again.

“Good, now I got myself another headache”, he heard a humorless chuckle along with that sentence, and the defender had to wonder if he should ask his boyfriend to just hang up and go to sleep already. It was reasonable and better for the midfielder's health, but Erik just wanted to keep listening to his voice for a while longer.

“Why don't you go to sleep, then?”, he ended up saying it anyway, hoping his soft tone hid his true feelings, “Maybe drink a tea and sleep earlier. It should help.”

“It should help”, Marco agreed, “It should.”

But he sounded distracted and not willing to do it for a reason or another. He didn't hang up either, so Erik kept his phone in his ear, expectant.

“Yeah, yeah it should. Sorry to bother you all this time”, came his rushed, almost embarassed answer.

“You're not bothering me.”

 _You're never bothering enough,_ was what Erik had truly wanted to say but he kept it to himself, not wanting to sound too clingy or too bothersome himself. He heard a low sigh in response.

“Right, so I think it's better for me to go. Thanks for putting up with me.”

“No problem. Just go get some rest, ok?”

“Ok, mom”, Marco chuckled at him and Erik couldn't help but chuckle too. “Oh, and Erik?”  
  
“Yes?”

But whatever it was he had truly wanted to say, he hesitated, probably thinking too much, considering his words, and that got the defender a little bit anxious. He could amost hear it, the moment Marco let ouf the breath he probably held in those seconds of hesitation.

“See you tomorrow?”

Erik sighed himself.

“See you tomorrow.”

And then he heard Marco hanging up. He stood there with his phone in his ear for some more time though, listening to the soft noise of the end of the call, trying to pretend that was Marco's voice instead. Erik wasn't sure how long did he stay like that, waiting, expecting something from the other side of the line when the midfielder had already left him for a while now. He wondered if Marco had followed his advices, if he had really went to sleep or if he was also staying glued in the same spot, holding up his phone and wishing he was listening to Erik's voice instead.

The younger boy shut his eyes, finally letting his phone drop from his hand to his side, hands going for his temples instead, which he rubbed and massaged, trying to get some relief. _At least Marco called me first,_ was his attempt to cheer up a little but that didn't help much. What was the meaning of that if they had barely interacted, if in the end he couldn't offer his boyfriend any kind of comfort?

“ _I know you're only trying to help, but sometimes you just can't, you know?”_

Marco's voice echoed in his head, repeating the words he didn't want to acknowledge. But they were the reality, the harsh and cruel reality he couldn't escape. What was he to do, if by the end of the day Marco's problems were his and his alone? Erik could be seen as prying and intruding and inconvenient overall because sometimes, there's just no use in comforting someone. That would be an act of pity and he didn't pity Marco.

“It's not pity”, he said out loud to himself, trying to make the words feel real.

It wasn't pity, but it was something close to that. Some strange sense of consolation after an irreparable loss, something that couldn't be helped no matter how much he wanted because in the end, Marco was right.

“It's not my fault”, Erik sighed, realisation finally dawning on him, “And it's not my heart on the line.”

Everything had always been about Marco and how his injuries had slowly started changing him in small details, progressing until he was completely different and Erik was left running after someone who wasn't there anymore. He wanted the old Marco back, Marco wanted the old himself back, but there were just some things that once changed, they never return to how they were before. There was no use in trying to prevent the changes; it was stressful enough having to face them right before you.

He tried recalling Marco's smiling face, its warmth and life and how one could be blinded by its shine. How his lionheart was braver than any other. But it felt wrong and out of place, a distant memory, far, far from the reality. And the defender could swear, in the back of his mind, he heard the lion's roar fading.

“Weep, then”, Erik whispered to himself, hoping somehow Marco heard him, “Weep, little lion man.”

 

 


End file.
